


A Riot Of Rainbow

by intotheruins



Series: Autistic Castiel Verse [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Autism Spectrum, Autistic Castiel, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Pick-Up Sticks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 18:46:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10668606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intotheruins/pseuds/intotheruins
Summary: Sam, Castiel, pick-up sticks, and a whole lot of laughing.





	A Riot Of Rainbow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MemoryCrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemoryCrow/gifts).



> Gremlin mentioned pick-up sticks in a comment she left on Making Chaos, and I just couldn't resist :D.

The kitchen was a riot of rainbows.

No, riot wasn't the right word. A romp, maybe. Yes, romp was a bright, playful word—it suited the helpless laughter pouring from Sam's throat, spilling out into the air the way his hair was spilling into his eyes as he bent double, hand clutching the counter for balance. It definitely suited Castiel's movements across the floor. He couldn't even tell what he was doing anymore; wriggling perhaps, or pouncing, or maybe both. Whatever his motions might be, they were anything but dignified, and he couldn't possibly care less.

It didn't matter so much, now that he was human. He didn't have to be reserved, always in control, but sometimes the fixing of chaos wasn't quite enough and he slipped back into old patterns, trapped behind them as if they were made of iron. Today had been one of those days, and no amount of resorting the books or the figurines in his workshop had helped.

He'd been desperate enough to seek out alcohol as a possible solution... and then Sam walked into the kitchen with five cylindrical containers.

“If this is annoying,” he'd said as he popped off the lid of the first container. “Just tell me, I'll clean it up.”

He'd held the container high in the air, and tipped it over.

What had seemed like a thousand thin sticks poured out onto the floor, bouncing and rolling and skittering over the linoleum, purple and green and red and blue, noise and color and Castiel _lost his fucking mind._ He'd flung himself onto the floor, grinning so hugely it made his cheeks ache. Every time he picked out a color, the stick loosened several others and started up the movement all over again, made worse (better, so much better) when Sam began to pour out the rest of the sticks. 

Now the last of the sticks were on the floor, and Sam was about to fall to his knees with the force of his laughter, and Castiel couldn't stop smiling. Before this moment, the only joyous chaos has been the sort made in Dean's bed (or on the kitchen table, but they weren't supposed to mention that), but as Castiel collected sticks and then hurled them gleefully into the air, he made a small adjustment to the sorting of chaos in his mind. 

Sam finally lost the battle with gravity and crashed to the floor, legs sprawled out in front of him like an oversized toddler, red-faced and bright-eyed. Castiel paused, one hand flat against the floor and the other clutched around a bundle of sticks. He was overcome with the urge to express how much he loved Sam, but words seemed completely inadequate. 

“Y-you know...” Sam gulped down a huge lungful of air, shaking his head wildly like it might knock the laughter right out of him. “Fuck, sorry, you know I'm not laughing _at_ you, right?”

Castiel's smile widened. Of course he wasn't. Sam's amusement was a pure thing, something Castiel didn't see nearly enough of (or Dean, and Castiel wished with a sudden, knife-sharp longing that Dean would appear so he could see this). There was nothing cruel in it, and it was honestly making the entire thing even better as far as Castiel was concerned. 

But words were still failing him, so he crawled across the floor and wrapped his arms around Sam's shoulders. He laughed with Sam, soft huffs against his neck, while Sam hugged him back and laughed some more.

Then Castiel sat back, and offered his handful of sticks. 

“I...” Sam frowned, confused, before his eyes widened in realization. “Oh, _oh. Cas._ ”

He took the sticks carefully, held them still between their bodies for a moment until Castiel nodded eagerly. 

He didn't like it when Dean or Sam tried to help him fix the chaos. But making the chaos... that was different. That could be shared. 

Sam hurled the sticks in the air, high enough that a few hit the ceiling. One bounced off Sam's nose, another off Castiel's head, and just like that they were laughing again, until their sides hurt and they were flat on the floor in a pile of color. 

Dean found them an hour later. Sam was sitting at the table now, a beer in one hand and an old paperback in the other. Castiel was cross-legged on the floor, all the purples and greens sorted, but only halfway through the blues. Everything was calm now, the reconstruction in progress, but Dean smiled like he could pick out the yellow-bright laughter still lurking in the corners, waiting for its next opportunity to strike. 

“Are those pick-up sticks?” 

Sam glanced up from his book and grinned. “Yeah, I found a bunch of them in the clearance aisle at Wal-mart.”

Two steps brought Dean to Castiel's side. He bent to plant a kiss in Castiel's hair, scruffed a hand through it so that Castiel could feel all the locks sticking up at odd angles (but that was okay because Dean had been a bit rough about it, and it felt nice), and straightened up to open the fridge. 

“I love you both,” Castiel announced. Oh good, words were back.

A crash and a quick scramble told Castiel that Dean had just tipped his beer over, but hadn't broken the bottle. Sam just grinned and said, “We love you back,” like it was easy, just as easy as Castiel knew it was, but Dean didn't know. That was fine, Castiel knew Dean loved him. 

“Dorks,” Dean muttered. He rubbed at the back of his neck, lips tight with a suppressed grin and eyes warm. “You gonna be a while, Cas?”

“Mm.” Castiel tipped his head in consideration. “Another hour, I think. Why? Do you need me?”

“Nah, I was just gonna ask if you wanted to watch a movie after. Don't rush, I'll watch something you don't like while you... fix this.” 

He waved a hand at the mess of sticks, shaking his head in amusement, and didn't quite manage to keep his smile hidden before he left the room. 

“Which one do you not like?” Sam asked curiously. 

“Most of them,” Castiel admitted. He finished with the blue and moved on to red. “We do so much fighting in our lives, I don't understand the appeal of the action movies. I prefer the softer stories.”

“Makes sense to me.” Sam closed his book and stood. “Do you want me to stay? If not I think I'm going to take a nap, all that laughing wore me out.”

He grinned and Castiel grinned back. “I'm fine,” he said, plucking another red from the floor. “Thank you, Sam.”

“You're welcome,” Sam replied warmly, and left Castiel to his reconstruction. 

 


End file.
